Everything But The Armor
by EnlightenedSkye
Summary: Childhood oneshot, featuring the heroic Sir Malcolm as our knight and Madeline Reed as the most dangerous creature in all the land.


A/N: These damn plot bunnies. I'm going to spend the rest of the summer beating them into submission. This is kind of a companion piece to Intertwining Destinies, as it may explain some of Meredith's quirks, but mostly can stand alone. We were brainstorming places for the retrospective RTP wedding (I just can't help myself), and this location came up in conversation. Thanks-as always-to BonesBird for her insights.

**Everything But the Armor**

"I, Sir Malcolm of the Round Table, do claim this land in the name of England!" the small boy crowed, striking a dramatic pose at the head of the playground slide.

Mary Reed looked on with amusement from her place on the park bench. "Do be careful, dear. You might easily fall from that height."

The child gave his mother a disarming smile. Reassured, she returned to reading her novel. Once her eyes were no longer on him, however, he began to scale the plastic mizzenmast that towered above him. How would it appear if he were to return to the King and Queen without having surveyed their new territory?

His father, Stuart, in a half-hearted attempt to relate to his young children, had suggested a holiday in Wales to swallow up a portion of the endless summer months. Presently, he was on leave from the Royal Navy, and a visit to some of the isle's historical sites seemed long overdue.

The brood had listened dutifully as he rambled off the history of the Aberystwyth Castle as if reciting from a rehearsed speech. The foundation had been laid personally by the great crusader King Edward I in the late 13th century. It had been a shining model of functional architecture for all who were in positions of power during the Middle Ages. The edifice had changed hands many times before Charles I designated it a silver mint in order to fund his war machine. Its present appearance, he claimed, besides the normal erosion and weathering that affected any ancient structure, was caused by Oliver Cromwell slighting the castle in 1649.

After nearly an hour spent mumbling to himself and nodding at the appropriate times, Malcolm had escaped to the play area that rested in the shadow of the razed building. The nearby town council, it seemed, knew exactly how to occupy the wayward children of tourists.

Recently, he had located a trove of old picture books in the attic of his home and had pored over the adapted tales of King Arthur and his wife Guinevere, of the brave knight Lancelot and his companions in servitude. Captivated, he had spent the past few weeks running about his neighborhood, climbing trees and fending off imaginary foes. The nanny, entertained by this sudden change of interest, had fashioned a wooden sword with rounded edges, much to his delight.

And now, as he brandished his weapon towards the sky, he made a solemn vow. So, those dastardly reformists thought they could challenge the crown? So be it! He, the most loyal of all of the knights, would battle to his last breath!

Or at least until mother called him for supper.

"Oi! What are doing all the way up there?" His sister Madeline, four years old but a spitfire nevertheless, peered up at him with her hands on her hips.

Shifting his focus to the intruder, he cried, "Who goes there?"

"Malcolm, you know who I am!"

His eyes darting left and right, he leaned forward and whispered conspiratorially, "_Pretend,_ Maddie!"

The little girl's eyes lit up with enthusiasm as she joined him on the jungle gym. "What are we playing? House? Constables and thieves?"

"No, no!" He hissed, climbing down to stand before her. "I am the brave knight, Sir Malcolm, and you are—"

"Don't tell me I've got to be some barmy damsel in distress!" she protested.

"Of course not!" The very thought was appalling to him. "You're the dragon."

"But they're always ugly and mean, Malcolm!"

"That's not so! Haven't you ever heard of St. George and his dragon? Perhaps they're just lonely."

She eyed him dubiously, but acquiesced and knelt down on all fours. "What am I supposed to do?"

"Breathe fire, claw about, growl menacingly!" he encouraged, climbing back atop his perch. "And I shall slay you!"

"But that's not fair!"

"How is it not?"

"When we play games, you _always_ win!"

"Not true!"

"Yes it is!"

"No it's not!"

Mary looked up from her literary tome, sub-consciously aware of her children's squabbling in a way only a mother can be. She stood and prepared to intervene, but then Madeline shouted, "Whatever happened to chivalry?"

"Chivalry?"

"Yes! Aren't all knights supposed to protect those who cannot protect themselves? You know, like elders, ladies, children—"

"But you're not any of those things! You're a _dragon_!"

"Don't be daft, we're just play-acting!"

Malcolm sputtered weakly, knowing that his sister was bound to win the argument. Besides, what kind of knight would he be if he failed to respect the honor and wishes of a woman?

Bowing deeply, he set to his apology. "I beg your forgiveness, Madam….Dragon. I seem to have forgotten my manners."

Madeline giggled triumphantly. "Brilliant. Now right yourself, good sir, and allow me to vanquish you with my superior powers in combat."

The boy was about to comply with her request when his father's sharp voice rang through the air.

"Malcolm, Madeline! Get down from there at once!"

The siblings obeyed, stumbling and tripping over each other to get to his side. Once their family was assembled, he began to grumble to himself about ungrateful and easily distracted children. Out of habit, they trained their eyes to the ground as they walked, not eager to incur his wrath any farther.

At a short distance behind them, Mary Reed cleared her throat and beamed at her progeny. It was about time they had learned to resolve their disagreements themselves.

His morality and honor reestablished, Malcolm sniffed pridefully and listened as his father spoke of their next excursion to the beach.

He wondered briefly if dangerous serpents were known to inhabit the Welsh coastline.

**The End**


End file.
